Hours later Maggie was awakened by a spider crawling noisily across her sea grass headboard. The arachnid inched toward her face. She tried to lift her head, but she stuck to the pillow, knowing if she didn't move, the spider would reach her, touch her, and bite her, sucking the life out of her petrified body.
Save me.
Maggie tried to lift her head again, and a pain shot through her neck.
Crystal appeared on the ceiling.
Magpie, detach.
“I'm trying to,” Maggie yelled, yanking her head off the pillow and snapping to a sitting position. This time, she held both hands to her pounding chest, worrying that she may have scared Carlos with the outburst.
Maggie didn't want to worry about her mother anymore, but she didn't know how to stop. She reached for her phone with trembling hands. If Crystal was unreachable, Maggie knew someone with critical information about her mother who wouldn't be.
“Hello? Maggie?” Paul sounded sleepy and disoriented.
Breathing in Jordon's air must have changed some of her cosmic makeup, because until now she did pay attention to clocks and time zones. She flinched, imagining eight little children sleeping in the same house and his docile wife curled at his side. She would've hung up if Caller ID hadn't already blown her cover.
“Paul, I'm sorry to bother you this late, but ⦠I need to know what's going on with my mother.”
“What do you mean? Is she okay?”
“That's my question exactly. I know this is going to sound crazy, but so be it. Please don't marry my mother.” Foolishness burned the lining of her mouth.
“I'm not marrying your mother, Maggie.”
Now she felt guilty on top of the foolishness. Sure the guy on the other end was a polygamist, an anomaly to most of the world, and yet she was the one calling a near-stranger in the middle of the night with an outlandish request.
“Crystal is far too old for anything other than a matriarchal position in the family, and Katherine isn't quite sure she's ready to be usurped in that way.”
Isn't quite sure? His ambiguous words validated Maggie's fear. “If Katherine decides she's okay with being usurped, what then? Will you marry her then? This is my mother we're talking about. She's easily trusting and entirely too susceptible. I've been having dreams, and you're both in them, and you need me to save you. I'm trying, Paul. I am. Please leave her alone.”
“Maggie, you're overreacting. Your mother is a beautiful visionary, and she's capable of making adult decisions.”
She wished she could believe that, but past experience proved him wrong. “My mother is complicated, and I'm tired of worrying about what's next and if what's next is going to hurt her beyond repair.”
“How would sharing a life with us hurt her?”
“What you call sharing, some people would call twisted oppression, male domination, and archaic, outdated, misguided religious doctrine.” Maggie gasped. She couldn't believe she strung together so many negative labels. She sounded intolerant, just like Jordon. The man was thousands of miles away, but his negativity still influenced her.
She needed to get a grip. She needed to prioritize: save Carlos from himself, save Crystal from Paul, and save Maggie from this slippery slope.
Maggie stared at a waist-high pile of dirty clothes in the middle of Carlos's bathroom. “Are you kidding me?” she asked.
“I don't know how to do it.” He extended his lanky arms to shoulder height and shrugged. “I don't know where to send it.”
“You could've asked Bernie.” Maggie bit back a snicker as she scanned the only clothing on his skinny body, a thigh-strangling girdle Carlos called âsliding shorts.' Maggie didn't know what sliding shorts were, but they didn't look comfortable. “They're cutting off your circulation.”
“I don't think they're mine. They're too small.”
She laughed and kicked an empty wicker basket toward him. “It'll take a couple trips, but I want you to carry this all downstairs and dump it into a pile in front of the washing machine. Then I'll teach you how to sort it. Sound like a plan?”
He nodded and filled the basket as his sliding pants strangled his thighs. There had to be something else he could wear. Even a blanket or towel wrapped around his waist would be more comfortable.
A solution popped into Maggie's head as she reached for a towel on a nearby rack. “I'm going to snoop through Jordon's things. I bet he has something you can wear.”
Carlos reared his head and widened his eyes.
“What? Under the circumstances I hardly think he'd care.” The look on Carlos's face gave Maggie second thoughts. “Do you think he'd care?”
Carlos filled his arms with more dirty clothes. “Maybe. He's ⦠”
“Scary?” She meant to finish the sentence in her head, but she blurted the word instead.
“I was going to say private.”
She squatted beside him, careful not to breathe too deeply in the direction of the pile. “I shouldn't have said that. Jordon is intense. That's all.”
“
Si.
” Carlos stood and hoisted the full basket to his waist. The heaping load in his arms didn't put a dent in the pile on the floor.
Maggie followed him to the loft and down the stairs, hoping her slip of the tongue wouldn't negatively influence Carlos where Jordon was concerned. The last thing she wanted to do was come between a player and his agent.
“Jordon had Bernie bring me all those groceries,” she said, hoping to neutralize the conversation. “That was nice. Don't you think?”
“
Si
.” Carlos turned and smiled. “He said you're welcome.”
Over the last few days, she'd seen more and more cracks in Carlos's sadness. He was even up to eating twice a day, but after that comment, she wasn't interested in applauding his progress. Jordon had some explaining to do.
“You talk to Jordon?” she asked, trying not to sound like the injured party.
“Every night.”
This was news to Maggie, who left three messages for Jordon. The first consisted of a âthank you' for the groceries. The second revolved around Carlos's progress, and the third was to inform him that she sent the exterminator packing.
“Great. Well, he won't return my calls. I'm happy to know he checks in with you at least.” So much for coming between a player and agent.
Carlos nodded and continued to the laundry room while Maggie stood in the same spot. Any friendly feelings she harbored for Jordon melted under the heat of this new information. Why was he ignoring her?
Oh, she could imagine what he thought of her last message. She recalled her exact words: “The insects you're murdering have received a stay of execution for the duration of my assignment. If that isn't acceptable to you, find someone to take my place.” Par for the course when dealing with a
flake
.
She marched across the hardwoods and threw open the door to the master suite. Her feet sunk into snow-white carpeting and her breath caught at the lake view from floor-to-ceiling windows. A private deck and two loungers beckoned on the other side of glass. No curtains or blinds obstructed the scene, just water as far as the eyes could see.
She walked deeper into the room and admired the huge wrought iron bed with plump ebony linens. Matching black lacquered nightstands held short stacks of books and accent lamps topped with dark-as-night shades. She ran her finger tips over the cover of a Hank Aaron biography before she spun around in search of a dresser.
In the corner of the room, black leather club chairs shared a wrought iron coffee table and a flat screen hung above a low bureau. She crossed to the sitting area and tugged on the single drawer. Remote controls. Unused cell phones. Cords and ⦠condoms. A couple blue packets escaped the open box.
Maggie gulped air, hoping to stomp the conflicting emotions pinching her lungs. Of course he had condoms. He was an attractive man. A little too dark for her taste, but lots of women would ⦠she slammed the drawer shut and stared at the big bed. Lots of women would climb into bed with Jordon.
Her skin heated as the images entered her brain with rapid-fire precision. His face gone soft. His body gone hard. And the woman who inspired his magical transformation.
She slapped her cheek â twice â because the woman in the images was her.
Pounding her chest to restart her heart, Maggie focused on her mission: clothes for Carlos. She held her breath and walked by the bed, running a finger along the silky duvet. When she'd safely passed, she reached for a doorknob in the hopes of finding a closet. Instead, she scanned miles of black granite, covering the floors and running up the walls of a shower bigger than her bedroom at home.
Flecks of silver danced along the polished surfaces. The double sinks shone black with chrome fixtures, and the jetted tub seduced like a tar pit. Maggie swallowed hard.
This was where the devil came to play.
More unwelcomed images of Jordon filled her head. Him, standing in the shower ⦠with her. The air in her nose and throat thickened like cement.
“Can I help you?”
She spun until her eyes locked on the jagged face behind the rough voice. “What are you doing here?”
“
This
is my bathroom. What are
you
doing here?”
He was surrounded by black, but Maggie's shaky vision couldn't tell if the color was the result of a negative aura or the wall of granite. She blinked fast and often, trying to see, trying to think.
His smoky running shoes, black jeans and fitted gray windbreaker blended with the dark stone. “You scared me.” Could he hear her heart pounding? “I'm looking for clothes for Carlos.”
He narrowed crow-like eyes. “Why would his clothes be in my room? And why would Carlos need your help getting dressed?”
The negative energy radiating from Jordon's core permeated her shield of light, and a rush of dark power coursed through her veins. “What are you insinuating?” She wrapped her arms around her breasts.
“Don't answer my question with a question.” He folded his arms across his chest too.
“The poor kid doesn't know how to do laundry. If you weren't so intimidating, he would've asked for help. But you are who you are, so he's dressed in an uncomfortable piece of baseball equipment, and I'm trying to help.” She blasted by him, striking him with a flailing arm.
Jordon was quicker than she anticipated, and he grabbed her trailing wrist, bringing her to a halt. “Why didn't you say that in the first place?”
“What, and miss you insulting me by insinuating I'm sleeping with a client?”
“It crossed my mind.”
If he was trying to make her feel better, he failed. She ripped her wrist from his hand and gripped her amulet through the pale yellow fabric of an empire-waist Henley. His eyes followed, flashing back and forth over her breasts. Her stomach dipped. The deep breaths she struggled for didn't put a dent in her rising anger. “You're evil.”
His cheek twitched. “Why? Because I think it's possible an attractive woman who obviously doesn't own a bra has the capability to bed a professional athlete?”
She'd never hit another person, but she no longer trusted her inner belief system to keep her from doing harm. Distance was the only thing that could save her soul. She was tired of his negativity, tired of being affected by it even when he wasn't here, and tired of the sight of him stirring a primal ache in her core.
He thought she was attractive. Big deal. He also thought she was a promiscuous, unprofessional flake. She might be in the midst of a delayed quarter-life crises, but she was none of the things Jordon thought she was.
Maggie fled the wicked room and came face to face with a sad-eyed Carlos. He had an orange bottle of detergent in hand and the face of a child caught in the middle of a nasty divorce.
She released her grip on the amulet, and something sensible surged. “Let's teach you how to do laundry.” Her voice was a little too high, like a deranged preschool teacher, but it did the trick, and Carlos followed her to the laundry room.
He didn't speak while they sorted the darks from the lights. When everything piled with like colors, Maggie nodded. “We'll do this load first. Go ahead and fill the machine.”
She watched as he lined the drum of the washer with a rainbow of clothes. When he'd finished, she handed him the detergent bottle. “Fill the cap to the top line.” His hands shook, and she couldn't help but smile. “Now dump it.” He hesitated. “Go ahead. Dump it all around or all in one spot. It doesn't matter. Good. Close the lid, and start the machine.”
She showed him which buttons to press and which dials to turn, and when the machine started filling with water, he looked besotted.
“You can show me that one, too?” He pointed to the dryer.
“When the washing machine stops. Until then, maybe you should hang out in your room where you'll be more comfortable.”
“Or you can change into these.” Jordon loomed in the doorway, blocking the exit.
Carlos accepted the shirt and track pants without a word and slipped past Jordon.
A light blue T-shirt replaced Jordon's gray windbreaker, and the muscles in his face twitched. “I'm sorry.” He sounded sincere, even managed to look her in the eye.
She'd been taught to give forgiveness as easily as she gave acceptance, but this was absurd. If it weren't for that precious young man who harbored horrific sadness, she would be on the next plane home.
Until then, Maggie would keep her distance.
Wanting to get away, she walked toward the room's only exit, where she attempted to slip between Jordon and the door frame like Carlos had. But Jordon didn't step aside. Instead, he wrapped an arm around her waist and pressed her to his chest.
Maggie braced for a surge of negative energy, only to have every nerve ending in her body sing until her knees buckled and her breathing stopped.